


There Was Only One Bed

by PengyChan



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Coco Locos Smut Off 2019, F/M, Gratuitous Smut, Humor, M/M, Pre-Canon, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-13 10:59:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18030458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PengyChan/pseuds/PengyChan
Summary: Héctor and Imelda hadn't expected a half-naked Ernesto to climb through their window just when the night was getting interesting, but they could adapt.





	There Was Only One Bed

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the Coco Locos Smut Off contest. The prompt: “I know, I’m quite impressive… why are you laughing?”  
> [Art by Elletoria]

When she heard _something_ hitting the window, Imelda ignored it for several reasons.

First of all, it may very well be a bird, or a figment of her imagination. Secondly, the weight of her husband kept her pinned down on the bed. And third, she had absolutely no intention to get rid of said weight - not with his cock hot and hard against her thigh and her so wet and willing and pretty damn _impatient._

“Héctor,” she nearly snarled, trying to buckle her hips to get his cock prodding where it _ought_ to be rather than the inside of her left thigh. It slid across the skin, hot and slick. Héctor looked down at her innocently.

“Sí, mi amor?” he asked, all sweetness and light. She smacked his chest.

“You _know_ what I want.”

“Maybe I want to hear you say--” he began, only to trail off when Imelda grabbed his face and pulled it close to hers. She stared into his eyes, feeling like she was about to catch fire.

“I want you to fuck the _soul_ out of my body,” she spelled out. The surprised expression turned into a smile that was almost dreamy. If he tried to play innocent again, next thing she’d grab and squeeze would be his cock.

Thankfully, that was not needed. He kissed her nose, and positioned himself between her thighs - the tip of his cock just about prodding her entrance. “Right away, mi vida,” he murmured, and she sighed in relief, grasping his shoulders and anticipating the heat, the stretch, that moment of bliss as he filled--

_Thump._

That sound again, louder - something hitting the glass almost hard enough to crack it, causing Héctor to wince and pull away. Imelda could have screamed with frustration, and Héctor went to the window before she could do so herself and yell something down at… whoever was having fun throwing rocks at the glass, really. A bunch of kids, probably, or worse--

“... Ernesto?”

Wait, what?

As Héctor opened the window, Imelda rolled her eyes. Oh, for God’s sake - what did that _idiota_ want? If he thought they’d let him in, he was sorely mistaken. When they’d arrived to perform at a celebration in the next town over - it was unusual for her to come along, but Héctor had insisted that they could use a woman’s voice as well, and Imelda couldn’t resist his puppy dog eyes - he’d had a chance to book a room of his own at the inn for the night, but shrugged it off.

“I’ll find another accommodation for the night,” he’d said, with a grin that spelled clearly he expect to find _entertainment_ , too. “I always do.”

And had left with a woman, yes… but now something seemed to have gone very, very wrong.

“What-- where’s your shirt?” Héctor was asking, causing Imelda to still, sitting on the edge of the bed. The night air coming from the window was far from cold, but still chilly on her heated skin. Ernesto’s voice drifted in, sounding just a little frantic.

“No time to explain! Let me in!”

“Huh… entrance of the inn is on the other-”

“Throw a rope, I’ll climb up!”

“Why would I have a _rope_ in here?”

“Then throw me the sheets! Ayúdame!” Ernesto’s voice rose, now _definitely_ more frantic - and was followed by something else: a man screaming, still in the distance but not too far away.

_“Come back, hijo de puta!”_

Héctor leaned a little further out of the window. “Who was--”

“Someone who’s going to cut off my cojones if you don’t let me in now!” Ernesto snapped, and oh, Imelda was starting to _see_ what was going on. With a roll of her eyes she stood, wrapped the sheets around herself, and went to the window beside Héctor to look down.

Ernesto was, indeed, missing his shirt. And his jacket, and his hat - just about anything except the trousers, really. His hair was tousled, and he looked more than a little terrified.

“I take it she was married?” she spoke, resting her elbow on the windowsill and her chin on her palm. It occurred to her only later that she’d shown at the window still flushed and aroused, hair down her bare shoulders, only covered by a sheet. She was much too amused to even think of it, or to notice the brief moment Ernesto’s panic faded into slack-jawed surprise, eyes widening just a little.

A moment interrupted by another cry, likely coming from somewhere in a nearby street.

_“Be a man and show yourself, you coward! I’ll cut off your cock and--”_

“He came home early,” Ernesto said quickly, and reached to put his hands on the wall below their window, like he somehow hoped to be able to climb it. It wasn’t a long way, but he couldn’t possibly climb it without a boost, or something to hold onto. “Let me in!”

_“-- shove it up your--!”_

Héctor raised an eyebrow. “Was it worth it?”

_“Héctor!”_

With a chuckle, Héctor turned to give her an apologetic look. “Can’t let him be torn to pieces.”

“No?”

“Amigos help their amigos. I’m going to need the sheets.”

Imelda sighed, but she did step away from the window to shrug the sheets off, and handed it to Héctor. “Go save your dumb friend,” she said, giving his ass a smack before she went to pick up her nightgown from the ground, and put it back on with a sigh. It was not an appropriate state of dressing for any man who was not her husband to see her in, but at the moment she couldn’t bring herself to care. She was still wet and aroused, which would be taken care of as soon as Ernesto was out of their room - because, of course, he was not going to stay in there more than-

“Ooof! How many tacos did you eat?”

“Chingate.”

“Can you push yourself up?”

“No I can’t, this damn wall is smoother than your ass.”

“Nice to see my ass is always in your thoughts,” Héctor grunted, and Imelda turned back to see him leaning out of the window, ass in question in the air. A very pleasant sight and yes, she _could_ confirm it was smooth. Nice to sink her nails into, too. Which had been precisely the plan until that idiota showed up. “All right, give me your hand and I’ll pull-- whoa!”

“Héctor!” Imelda grabbed her husband’s torso just on time before he went right out of the window, legs kicking in the air. She wasn’t precisely heavy herself, but it thankfully was enough to hold him down, and he gave a long sigh of relief.

“Gracias,” he croaked once he managed to get back in the room, still holding on his stupid friend, a foot braced against the wall. “Hang in there, Ernesto!”

“What does it look like I’m doing? Pull me up!”

“You’re heavy!”

“Well _some_ of us have some muscle on our bon--”

_“I SAID COME OUT, BASTARDO!”_

This time it was closer, and more of a bull’s bellow than a human voice; Imelda could easily guess the guy had to be big. Ernesto’s own voice, on the other hand, suddenly got comically high-pitched.

_“Pull me up pull me up--!”_

Acting out on instinct, Imelda leaned out the window, grabbed Ernesto’s other hand - the one still grasping at the sheets - and pulled, just as Héctor did. She found herself stumbling back on the floor, and something heavy fell on top of her.

On top of both her and Héctor, really.

“Oof!”

“Ow!”

“I meant, pull me up _gently,_ Héctor!”

“Ay, hijo de-- get off me, I need to kick you back down--”

“WHERE ARE YOU HIDING??”

That voice again, almost directly beneath the window by the sound of it, caused all three of them to fall silent and go very, very still. Imelda was still reeling too much for their current position to really sink in, but she was aware of Héctor holding his breath beside her and of Ernesto’s heart thumping rabbit-quick in his chest, pressed up to her own.

_“What the hell is going on?”_

_“There are people trying to sleep here!”_

_“Go yell somewhere else!”_

More voices rose up, and there was an argument, violent but short-lived. With a sound that reminded her again of a bull, the man seemed to turn around and leave; there were windows slamming shut and, for a few long moments, there was only silence.

Broken, of course, by Ernesto.

“Madre de Dios,” he muttered, and went limp as tension left his body, burrowing his face in the small space between her shoulder and Héctor’s. He heaved out a long sigh. “That was close.”

Héctor chuckled. “And _what_ do we say?”

“Gracias.”

“... What, just like that? And here I expected an argument. Just _how_ big was that gu--”

_“Get off us.”_

Imelda’s order came out as a hiss mainly because she couldn’t draw the breath to speak much louder. She wanted to blame Ernesto’s weight on her - and maybe it was part the reason - but the truth was that she was just beginning to wrap her mind around their position and, more worryingly, her current state.

She’d been aroused to the point of frustration when she and Héctor had been interrupted and now… well, she still was. With danger gone - was _that_ sort of excitement to blame, too? - she was all too aware of the heat pulsing between her legs, the prickle at her skin, the sensitive hardness of her nipples beneath the cotton nightgown… and beneath the bare chest of someone who definitely should _not_ be bare chested in her presence.

Or just not in her presence.

“Huh?” Ernesto lifted himself up on his elbows, and looked down at her questioningly - close, much too close - before his eyes widened and he immediately pulled away, sitting back against the wall. Imelda instinctively reached to take the sheet from the floor to cover herself, but Héctor snatched it first and thrown it over his groin. Given that he was stark naked, it was… fair.

Had she taken a closer look Imelda might have noticed, despite the bunched-up sheets, that he was still quite hard as well as naked, but she did not: suddenly, all she could do was stare at Ernesto - who glanced back at her, unsure for a moment, and then suddenly turning coy.

“I know, I’m quite impressive… why are you laughing?”

Imelda tried to reply, but all that left her was more laughter, joined by Héctor’s. While she slapped a hand on her mouth - the laughter left her in a honk through her nose - her husband pointed at Ernesto.

“Hahah! Look-- pffft! Look down!”

“What are you two-- oh.”

For a few moments he stared at the traces of red lipstick on his skin and over his nipples, turning them cherry red. He stared, blinked, looked back at them… and burst out laughing.

“Pfffft--!”

“Hahahahahah--”

“HAHAHAHA!”

“You really-- hahaha! You really got going before he came back, huh?”

“HAH! I was lucky to get away with my trousers on!”

There was more laughter as Ernesto went to the basin to splash some water on the smears, wiping them off with a cloth - then, he sighed. “Ay, I was hoping for a night of passion and now I have to sleep on a cold floor,” he muttered dramatically, making Héctor snicker and Imelda scowl.

“You’re not sleeping on the floor.”

Ernesto raised an eyebrow. “Offering me the bed? That’s generous--”

“You’re not sleeping in this room!”

“What?” He had the nerve to look offended. “Why not? I must hide!”

“Get your own room!”

“The inn is full!”

“Then run fast!”

“What’s the problem if I sleep on the floor?”

Normally, Imelda would have just repeated her order to get out, because she owed him no explanation. But she was still wet, her sex throbbing, her skin feverishly warm and not because of the outburst. “We’re busy in here!” she snapped, and Ernesto blinked, turning to Héctor - who sat at the edge of the bed, sheets bunched over his groin and otherwise still naked.

“Busy? What’s she… talking…” he paused, glanced back at her, and _finally_ it seemed to dawn on him, like he was only now noticing Héctor’s nakedness and her dishevelled hair. “... Ah.”

“Good, you got it,” Imelda scoffed. Under normal circumstances she might have been embarrassed, but she refused to be. Why should she? She was there with her _husband,_ in an inn they had paid to stay in. Ernesto was the one who’d barged in, half-naked and panting, skin as warm as her own aaaand no, wait, that was _not_ where her line of thought was supposed to go. _“Leave.”_

Ernesto stared at her, apparently still dumbfounded by the revelation two married people would have sex, then he worked his jaw and scowled, crossing his arms. If she'd been wearing any sort of footwear, Imelda would have thrown it at him.

"What, I'm supposed to go out in the cold--"

"It's Spring, don't tell me you can't handle it. And besides--"

"-- at risk of being _caught_ and castrated--"

"-- you kind of deserve it, don't you think?"

“-- just so that you two can fuck?”

“That’s _precisely_ what I’m saying!”

“Forget about it! I’m going nowhere!”

“You’re _not_ going to ruin the night!”

"Quit pretending you're missing out anything! If he satisfied you, you wouldn’t be this _difficult_ all the time!"

_Oh no he didn’t._

"Wait, what?" Héctor screeched in the face of that low blow. "I'll have you know--"

"He fucks just fine," Imelda cut him off, glaring daggers at Ernesto. Her blood rushed in her ears, her skin was warm and oh, God, she’d never wanted to be ravished more in her life and that idiota _refused_ to leave.

Far from intimidated, he glared back. “I could do better.”

“As if,” Imelda snorted. Her dismissive tone seemed to hit Ernesto like a slap to the face.

“I _can_ do better!”

“You wish.”

“I’d make you forget your own name!”

“Hah! I'd like to see that!”

“Me too,” Héctor blurted out, and whatever retort Ernesto was about to utter died in his throat. The look of utter bewilderment he gave her would have been funny, if not for the fact Imelda was just as stunned. She blinked back at him before they both turned, slowly, to silently look at Héctor.

He stared back at them with wide eyes, as though he couldn’t believe what he’d just uttered. His face was red, and both hands pressed against his mouth - which of course had caused the sheets he’d been holding over his groin to fall on the floor. His cock was just as hard as it had been while she was beneath him, the tip wet and dark. As Imelda’s gaze shifted to it - and not her gaze only, she’d realize later - Héctor let out a shriek and grabbed the sheets to cover himself, again.

“Sorry-- I’m sorry! I was just. Thinking aloud,” Héctor babbled. “S-so, how about we just--”

“Wait, would you really?” Ernesto spoke up suddenly. His voice was _mostly_ firm, but not entirely. Héctor looked at him with the wide eyes of someone who is _trying_ to look innocent and only looks all the more guilty.

“Would I what?”

"See us, uh..." Ernesto cleared his throat, and glanced down at Imelda - who, from her part, felt remarkably like she'd been encased in ice... all while being on fire within. "You know."

Under normal circumstances, Imelda might have attempted to physically and violently remove Ernesto from their room - possibly via the window - for just suggesting a such thing... but those were not, in any way, normal circumstances. Héctor _had_ blurted out as much, and she found that despite knowing she ought to be outraged she just... wasn't.

What she was, at the moment, was still wet and open and sort of desperate for _something_ to do done about it, like an itch she just _had_ to scratch before she went crazy.

“... Would you, Héctor?” Imelda asked, her voice oddly distant to her own ears.

He fidgeted with the sheets, and despite the awkwardness there was a spark of something in his eyes - raw desire she did not miss. "It was-- well-- just an idea. A terrible idea!" he added quickly. "You know what, let's forget it and just... just sleep, sí? It's been a long day, and we're all tired, so it would be best to... to... Imelda?"

"What are you doing??"

It was hard to say whose voice was shrillier, and truth be told she didn’t care. All she cared about was the heat, the throbbing want that had to be sated, there and then. Rational thought flying out of the window she should have left Ernesto out of, Imelda pulled the nightgown up over her head and let it fall on the floor.

The warm night air felt cool, giving her goosebumps; her nipples were almost painfully hard, but she made an effort to keep her expression neutral, turning to face Ernesto. He stared at her with wide eyes, jaw slack like he’d just seen her grow wings, which gave her no small amount of satisfaction… but not the sort of satisfaction she was after at the moment.

“Well?”

“I--” he choked out, eyes wandering over her body - was it her, or they had widened even more? - before he looked past her, at Héctor. “En serio?”

Imelda turned to her husband, too; their gazes met and held. His eyes moved slowly from her to Ernesto, and then back to her; in the faint light of the candle, which flickered and cast deep shadows over his body - so tall and sinewy, utterly different from Ernesto’s own. He licked his lips, and spoke in a whisper.

“... If you want.”

And she did want… not necessarily Ernesto specifically, but something - a cock in her, for heaven’s sake - to take away that throbbing ache, the fire that had been ignited and had yet to be put out. And she wanted it to happen while Héctor watched-- while he held her, and whispered in her ear, telling her what he saw, _how_ he saw her.

The sense of heat in her loins was enough to make her knees weak. When she spoke, her own voice was hoarse. “You won’t let me go one moment.”

“Never,” Héctor breathed, and that sealed it. Imelda turned back to Ernesto to see he was still gaping; his eyes paused on her breasts before she spoke, and then met her gaze. He had never looked so confused… but that confusion was giving way to something else she had never seen on his face before, a hunger that matched their own.

“If you want to get out,” she said, knowing full well he would not, “this is the moment.”

Ernesto’s lips curled in a breathless smile. “I’m going nowhere.”

“Good,” she stepped forward, acutely aware of her nakedness - of how forbidden all of this was, no other man but her husband was supposed to see her, let alone touch her - and looked at him, _really_ looked, for the first time. His chest was deep as Héctor’s was thin, his shoulders broad, his neck thick. When she rested a hand over that chest - he was warm, just like Héctor - she felt it shuddering with a hitching breath. She smiled. “This will never leave this room.”

Ernesto chuckled. “No one would believe me,” he said. “Por Dios, _I_ don’t believe it.”

Imelda smirked, and let her hand wander down to his stomach before grabbing his belt. Ernesto hissed, and the reason why was clear; his trousers were quite tight, the bulge obvious.

“I doubt you’re as good as you think you are.”

“I’ll prove you wrong.”

He had better, Imelda thought, after the headache he threatened to give her. “Get this off you.”

Ernesto’s hands went to undo his belt so fast that Imelda might have laughed, if not for the arms that suddenly circled her - the warmth of Héctor’s chest against her back, the slick hardness of his cock against her skin, his mouth on her neck and his hands cupping her breasts. His thumbs brushed over her nipples, causing her to shiver and lean back against him.

“Imelda,” he murmured, making her name alone sound like a prayer. Another open-mouthed kiss against her neck, and one of his hands - so calloused against her skin - went down her stomach, to her thigh and finally, finally between her thighs. She was dripping wet, and his fingers slipped easily in her.

He curled them, just a little, and pressed his thumb against her clit, turning her sigh into a moan. There was a jolt, a shudder, and her knees failed her; Héctor’s arm around her was what kept her from crumbling. Within moments she was on the bed, her husband still holding her close, back to his chest and cock pressing against her back - it would have been so very pleasant if not for the fact she was now painfully empty; the heat that had been throbbing in her sex had turned into desperate need.

_“Christ.”_

Ernesto sounded breathless, and Imelda opened her eyes to see him staring down at them, breathing fast. He was naked as well, and hard-- it was the first time Imelda saw him like that, and she let her gaze wander across his body, grudgingly conceding that she could, perhaps, _sort_ of guess what was it that so many women saw in him. His cock was shorter than Héctor’s, but thicker, and it suddenly hit her - she was going to have another man in her, as her husband watched him take her.

The mere idea should have probably given her a stroke, but Imelda only felt all the more aroused and curious, in a way. She tilted back her head and stared, dizzy with want, as Ernesto knelt between her legs, gripping her hips, breathing fast. There was the first difference, she thought - how much broader than Héctor he was, how she had to spread her legs wider to get them on each side of him.

“You’re-- fine with this?” Ernesto repeated, his voice husky, eyes moving from her to Héctor.

Imelda felt him nodding, resting his cheek on her hair, a hand on her stomach and the other still kneading her breast. “S-sí. Imelda…?”

As a response, she buckled her hips against Ernest’s hand, which had slipped on her upper thigh. “Get on with--” she began, and suddenly his fingers were in her, thicker than Héctor’s, sliding in easily because ah, God, she had rarely been so wet in her entire life. He pressed in, curling his fingers and causing her to shudder and clench; she felt her own slickness on his hand when he pulled them out, lifted her hips, and pushed in.

_“Oh--!”_

What left her was half a sigh, half a moan, and was quickly swallowed by Héctor’s lips on hers in a deep kiss. She grasped his hair, keeping their mouths joined, head spinning at the contrast - the familiarity of the kiss and the entirely new experience of Ernesto’s cock in her, the difference in thickness and texture, the way it slid in her, how it stretched her a little wider than she was used to and hit different spots.

There was a groan somewhere above her, and Ernesto paused, but was not still; she could feel every minute movement, every twitch, and she clenched around him to get a gasp out of him. Her mouth was still joined with Héctor’s, but the message - _move_ \- was clear.

“... You asked for it,” Ernesto panted, and pulled back just a moment before he pushed back in, hard, swift, _deep._ It was like a jolt, white-hot pleasure up her spine that tore a cry out of her. Her head jerked back against Héctor’s shoulder as she gasped for air, gazing up at Ernesto, half-expecting a smirk - but he wasn’t smirking, oh no. He shared down at her and Héctor with wide eyes, moving fast; he snapped his hips forward and pulled back, all his strength behind each thrust, his movement so _fluid_ despite it.

Each thrust pushed her back against the solid warmth of Héctor’s chest, breasts shuddering back and forth, making the old bed creak - joining the steady thump of flesh against flesh, the slick-wet noises. It gave her pleasure and yet built up the need for release, in a crescendo that left her gasping, clinging to Héctor’s arm, wrapping her legs around Ernesto’s waist. Maybe she’d ache the next day, but right there and then she didn’t care, as she didn’t care that what she was doing - what they were doing - was at the _very_ least shameful.

What kind of woman let a man she’s not married to take her? What kind of man allowed it?

_Doesn’t matter, it’s us, what we want, our secret. No one will know._

“Diosa,” Héctor breathed against her ear. His breath was so warm-- he was so warm, Ernesto was warm, the cock in her seemed to burn and the very air she breathed was hot enough to scorch her throat. Her heart hammered in her chest, blood rushed through her ears, and Imelda threw back her head against Héctor’s shoulder, feeling like she could drown.

He kissed her temple, his own breath coming in gasps. He was still hard against her back, smearing precome across her skin. “You’re beautiful-- this is beautiful, mi amor, mi vida,” he rasped, stroking her hair. The hand fondling her breast trailed down across her stomach, and to her sex, where Ernesto’s cock was buried. His fingers circled her clit, so lightly, almost teasingly. It tore a whine out of Imelda’s throat, and Ernesto laughed breathlessly above her.

“I could ask-- which one of us just caused that,” he panted, causing Imelda to _really_ look at him for the first time since he’d begun thrusting into her. In the candle light she could see his face was flushed, his lips parted, his skin slick with sweat. She could see his muscles working, and it wasn’t a bad sight at all. She would take Héctor’s lithe body any day - his gentleness, the whispered words, the devotion in his eyes - but for one night only… yes, it could do.

“Does it matter?” she resped, forgetting for a moment of the challenging words that had started it all… but it was fine, because it seemed Ernesto had pushed it out of his mind, too. He smiled.

“No. No, it-- ay, Héctor, what--” he let out a gasp, and Imelda looked down to see Héctor’s fingers had slipped over his cock as it pulled out of her and then back in, rocking against her.

She stared, transfixed, at the cock half-buried in her - the way she stretched over it, how Héctor’s fingers glided across it, tracing a vein, slick with her juices. He chuckled - “amigos help their amigos” - before he moved his thumb back to her clit  and pressed down, hard.

_“Ah--!”_

She was almost there, God, almost _there,_ pleasure coiling up in her loins, making her shudder violently and clench around Ernesto. He moaned, too, and leaned forward to press his mouth on her breast, moist warmth against her nipple just as he drove deeper, and Héctor’s fingers pressed in harder, and he kissed her neck--

There was a moan, and for a few moments Imelda entirely lost sense of what was going on. All that she knew was that everything was so warm, that there was a cock thrusting fast into her, hands wandering across her body, mouths kissing and sucking marks across her skin. Her vision seemed to gray out for a moment, each muscle of her body locking up, and she would never know what it was, if the touch on her clit or the cock ramming her - but in the end, it did not matter. She was past caring about anything but pleasure and pleasure was what she got, a wave carrying her up and then crashing down, making her tremble and gasp, shudder and cling to Ernesto’s sweat-slicked shoulders and back, her nails leaving marks across it while his muscles worked beneath her palms. She called out Héctor’s name - or moaned something that sounded, vaguely, like his name.

“Imelda,” he choked out, and shuddered. His cock twitched against the small of her back and she felt him spill warm across her sweaty skin, heard his mumbled apology, but everything was fine - better than fine. Her hand grasped his hair, pulled his mouth down on hers, and they kissed deeply as she rode out her orgasm, clenching around Ernesto - who buckled into her a few more times and, suddenly, pulled out.

Something within her cried out for the loss of contact, but it was easily drown out by the lingering pleasure. Imelda watched, through half-lidded eyes, as Ernesto finished in the sheets, moaning through clenched teeth, chest rising and falling with each panting breath. As Héctor settled down with a pleased sigh, taking Imelda down with him, he glanced down at them, still kneeling.

She came before him, all right. He could have boasted about it; she could have retorted that Héctor had helped. They could have argued.

Except that neither of them _wanted_ to.

“I--” Ernesto began, then drew in a deep breath, and licked his lips. “... I’m not sleeping on the floor.”

“No,” Héctor agreed, holding out his arm with a smile that was almost dreamy. Finally sated, Imelda felt rather sleepy herself. “But it’s a tight fit. Like the clothes I’ll lend you tomorrow, pendejo.”

Ernesto grinned. “I don’t mind terribly,” he muttered. He let himself fall down on them as he had at the window, less than a hour earlier; this time, as he wrapped his arms around both of them and they settled down, their breathing slowing, Imelda found she didn’t mind either. Not terribly, anyway.

After all, there was only one bed.


End file.
